


Paternity Test (The Fathers, Be Good To Your Daughters Remix)

by Topaz_Eyes



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Babies, Character Study, Character of Color, Daughters, Fatherhood, Gen, Introspection, Pregnancy, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-15
Updated: 2012-04-15
Packaged: 2017-11-03 17:56:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/384236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Topaz_Eyes/pseuds/Topaz_Eyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You walk in that room, you'll screw up her life forever."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paternity Test (The Fathers, Be Good To Your Daughters Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zulu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zulu/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Paternity Test](https://archiveofourown.org/works/72990) by [zulu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zulu/pseuds/zulu). 



> Remix title taken from "Daughters" by John Meyer. Many many thank-yous to my beta, Nightdog_Barks! ♥

Foreman learned Cuddy had already given birth by the time he reached Labor and Delivery.

To his dismay, the L&D nurse on duty refused to allow him into the ward. Instead, she briskly directed him to the waiting room, answering every question he tried to ask with only "You'll have to wait for Dr. Skorenki." Finally, he slumped in a chair. He figured it had been less than five minutes after the page. Cuddy must have been further along in labor than Skorenki thought, because House hadn't even attempted to delay his leaving from Diagnostics. Or, Cuddy had instructed Skorenki not to call until the very last minute--which, given their arrangement, wouldn't have been surprising. Either way, Foreman was stuck waiting and stewing until Skorenki exited the unit over an hour later, pulling her surgical cap off her head.

Foreman stood and cornered her. "Why didn't you call me earlier?"

"The pitocin induced a precipitous delivery," Skorenki replied wearily. "Less than five minutes. It's uncommon, especially in primiparous mothers, but not rare. We stopped the drip, but it was already too late."

"A precipitous delivery could cause pneumothorax or hypoxia," Foreman said, frowning.

"The neonatal specialist examined her, and there have been no indications of either. Dr. Cuddy did have some tearing as a result, but she and the baby are doing fine. The nurses are cleaning them up now. You can see them in a few minutes." She touched his arm. "They're both okay, Dr. Foreman. No need to worry."

"Thanks," Foreman said, though he didn't feel relieved just yet. He resigned himself to pacing until the L&D nurse called out. "Dr. Cuddy is ready for you now."

"Finally," Foreman said, but when he turned, House was standing at the entrance to the unit. He held his cane across the entrance of the ward, blocking Foreman's way. 

Foreman blinked--how the hell had he arrived without him noticing?--then he recovered his composure to scowl at him. "This is none of your business, House."

"You're an idiot," House said. "You walk in that room, you'll screw up her life forever."

"So what, if I walk away, I won't?"

"If you walk away, you'll be fired."

Foreman's mouth gaped open for a full second. "You can't be serious," he said.

"I need fellows who take responsibility for their actions," House said, "especially their stupid ones."

"I know that," Foreman replied, "but isn't it up to Cuddy to decide whether or not I'm involved?"

"Doesn't matter. You did the crime, Foreman, you do the time. Eighteen to twenty-five, at least."

"Why do you even care?"

House pinned him with his glare. "Because, despite claims to the contrary, fatherhood doesn't end with a teaspoon of sperm. She deserves to know the parents who will screw her up. Both of them." He lowered his cane. "Besides, I called your dad. He and your mom are on their way over right now to meet their new grandkid."

Foreman stood, trembling and hands closed in fists as House pivoted away and limped off towards the vending machine at the end of the hallway. "You bastard," he whispered. His parents were the last people he'd wanted to know.

"You're welcome," House called over his shoulder.

For a brief moment, Foreman entertained the possibility of punching House's lights out, but he had a bigger responsibility. He squared his shoulders, and strode into the unit towards room 220.

He stopped at the door to Cuddy's room. The overhead lights were dimmed. Cuddy lay half-propped in the bed, her face pale, her eyes closed; an IV line snaked down her arm. Beside the bed sat a standard-issue bassinet; through its glass walls Foreman could see a yellow-wrapped bundle.

He crossed the room to stand at the foot of the bed, and glanced at her chart. As a result of the precipitous delivery, she'd lost over 500 millilitres of blood, and had had a third-degree tear. He should have insisted on being here, he thought with a pang of guilt; it was the least he could have done.

He replaced the chart on the bed; as he did, Cuddy's eyes fluttered open. "Foreman," she murmured. "Hi."

"Hi," he replied.

Cuddy took one look at Foreman and sighed heavily. "House knows," she said.

"Yeah." Foreman checked his watch. With luck, House would give them maybe five minutes together before he barged his way into the room and permanently into his daughter's life. He had that long to decide what to do. "We were in the middle of a differential when my pager went off. It was kind of hard not for him to figure it out when I asked for Dr. Skorenki."

Cuddy closed her eyes and leaned back against the pillows. "Just what I needed to hear today," she said.

"At least this way he won't be trying to steal our DNA to prove it," Foreman added.

"And you had your moment of glee when he realized you pulled one over on him," Cuddy said.

"Yeah, that was sweet." The look on House's face had been worth the nine months of subterfuge. Foreman then turned away to the bassinet, where his daughter--Cuddy's daughter, he firmly reminded himself--lay sleeping. "I stayed away while you were pregnant," Foreman said, "just as you asked."

"I know," Cuddy said gently. "And thank you. I appreciate it."

But the unspoken question, what do I do now, hung over him, and he found himself unable to wrap his tongue around the syllables. How tied was he to Cuddy, really? He'd agreed to her request; they'd spent one night snarking about House followed by (admittedly fantastic) sex. Right after she'd informed him of the positive pregnancy test, they'd laid down the rules: he'd stay away and she wouldn't tell House that Foreman was her sperm donor. She was his boss, he was his employee, and he knew how to be discreet. He'd been mostly fine with the arrangement. 

There'd been a few instances, mainly the ultrasound appointments, where he'd wavered a bit. Really, House had no business being at any of them. Foreman knew House had been there only to rile Cuddy, but he'd still found himself trying to suppress some jealousy each time House crowed about Cuddy's parasite. And his fist, once, when House waved an ultrasound photo at his face.

And once he'd had to bite his tongue at Christmas dinner with his parents, when his mother had briefly stirred from her Alzheimer's-induced fugue to ask when Lisa was due to give birth. He'd almost spilled, until he remembered she was referring to his high-school girlfriend Leesa. That Leesa had gotten pregnant after they'd broken up. His father had pulled him into the kitchen between dinner and dessert to ask what was going on, but hadn't pried further at Foreman's insistence he was fine.

Otherwise it had been a relatively peaceful nine months for him. Now, though, was different. He had no doubt House would follow through on his threat, but he wasn't ready for this, either. Cuddy was more than willing to do this alone. She'd let him off the hook if he asked, would mitigate House's damage to his career. But--

"What the hell do I do?" he found himself saying aloud.

"She looks like you," Cuddy said evenly.

He was grateful for her non-accusing tone. He picked up the baby's chart, nodding approvingly at the stats: seven and a half pounds, twenty inches long; Apgars of eight and nine despite the trauma of delivery. He surveyed the baby with a practiced eye. Swaddled in a yellow maternity blanket, pink cap covering her head, a small black curl escaped the brim. Her face was puffy, her nose flat, a rich caramel underneath all the red blotches, with perhaps a small case of pustular melanosis on one cheek; she appeared perfectly normal and healthy.

The baby stirred, blinking awake, and looked up at him with that unfocused, slate-gray gaze newborns had. Foreman had always thought babies seemed much wiser than they ever let on, and this one was more so than the rest. Her stare unsettled him. It felt like she'd assessed his soul and found him wanting. Maybe, he thought, she was right about that.

"Have you picked out a name?" he asked, just to fill the accusing silence around him.

"Not yet. But I'm open to suggestions."

"House wants you to name her after him."

"Why am I not surprised," Cuddy replied. Foreman's lips quirked at the amusement in her voice. At that point, the baby mewled. "Here, give her to me," she added. "She didn't want to nurse earlier, maybe she will now."

Foreman scooped the bundle from the crib and averted his eyes while Cuddy rucked up her gown to expose one pregnancy-swollen breast. Wordlessly he passed the baby over; Cuddy guided the baby's smacking lips to her areola. Wide-eyed, she latched on and sucked tentatively at first, then drew long gulps.

That's my girl, he said to himself. Aloud, he said, "She's a natural," and grinned.

Within a minute, the baby's eyelids drooped towards a feeding-induced coma. A few minutes later, Cuddy detached the baby from her breast and gave her back to Foreman. Cradled in his arms, she slept peacefully. Foreman stared at her in wonder.

"I want to be involved," Foreman blurted out. "I want to help raise her. If you'll let me."

Cuddy gave him a wry smile. "Even if it means House becomes a permanent fixture in your life?"

Foreman cuddled his daughter closer. "Maybe House won't screw her up so much if I'm there for her." He raised his chin defiantly. "So I want to be there."

Cuddy nodded and heaved a sigh of something like relief. "I'm glad," she said. "She'll have at least one good male role model."

"Cuddy and me and Foreman's baby make three," House boomed from the doorway. "Oh, wait a minute. Foreman makes four. I never learned how to count."

Cuddy glared at him while Foreman rolled his eyes. "Oh look, it's crazy Uncle House," Foreman said. Cuddy snorted back a laugh.

House limped over to Foreman and put an arm around him. "One big happy family," House continued, though his voice lowered a bit in respect to the sleeping baby. "And here's our little parasite. You name her after me?"

"I'm not about to give her that kind of complex," Cuddy said, then she tilted her head at Foreman. "What's your mother's name, Eric?"

Caught off-guard, Foreman hesitated. "Alicia," he said finally.

"That's a lovely name," Cuddy said. "Rachel Alicia." Foreman felt himself puff up with pride.

"So you'll name her after his side but not mine?" House faux-pouted.

"You don't have a side," Cuddy said. "And keep your voice down, you'll wake Rachel."

"Welcome aboard, baby-daddy," House said gleefully. "By the way, Foreman, I don't do diapers."

"Shut up, House," Foreman said, feeling surprisingly good. House might be a pain the ass for the next eighteen to twenty-five years, but, holding Rachel Alicia in his arms right now, he had a hunch it would be worth it.


End file.
